


in hell i'll be in good company

by MaddestMaid3n



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27744550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddestMaid3n/pseuds/MaddestMaid3n
Summary: "When she first saw him, he had a busted lip and someone else’s blood on his hands...No charges would be pressed against him, even though the killer’s busted and swollen face was evidence enough of the young adult’s altercation.Caroline was impressed."a detective!au
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	in hell i'll be in good company

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Very Graphic Scenes of Violence

When she first saw him, he had a busted lip and someone else’s blood on his hands. Standing in front of the television at the Mystic Grill, her eyes followed as the screen flickered back and forth between Channel 6’s very own Andy Anderson and video of a scene from across the pond.

“Henrik Mikaelson’s grisly murder had left a heavy fog on this London suburb. With no leads, the police were stumped, but one of Henrik’s older brothers never gave up. For his senior year, Niklaus Mikaelson has played part-time detective, looking for the killer, and today he found him.”

Caroline’s mouth parted in wonder as the report went on, detailing how the eighteen year old had traced the killer, Henrik’s one-time camp counselor, through questionable interview tactics, and multiple counts of trespassing until the investigation culminated in a brutal confrontation with the man.

A representative from Scotland Yard wore a disapproving look as he spoke into the camera, “We understand the traumatic effect that a loss like this can have, but we urge the public to refrain from vigilantism. Laws are in place for a reason,”

No charges would be pressed against him, even though the killer’s busted and swollen face was evidence enough of the young adult’s altercation.

Caroline was impressed.

***

She began her own journalistic career in a far less grizzly manner. High school newspaper columns on the festival of the weekend gave way to an internships at the Mystic Falls Quarterly, where she learned less about following a story than about following her boss’s lunch order (A Tuna Melt with a side of bacon fries, a combo that still made her nose crunch up at just the thought).

When the internship gave way to a full-time position, Caroline deferred her acceptance to Whitmore University. A gap year would give her that professional edge over her future peers and the journalism world was cutthroat as it is.

It had been innocuous, a fluff piece is what the editor had told her. A year ago, a local man named Derrick Thompson had won the lottery. One million dollars and a family cruise trip around Europe. The story had dominated the news cycle for two weeks and this follow-up would be her third publication. She jumped at the opportunity, having turned into the office assistant and coffee carrier as the town went through a winter dry spell of cutesy stories to follow.

She called Thompson on Monday to schedule the interview. The Tuna Melt safely delivered to her boss, Caroline ran her eyes over the interview guide she had prepped. On the seventh ring, someone picked up.

“Good afternoon!” All she could hear was static. “My name is Caroline Forbes and I am with the Mystic Falls Quarterly. We are really interested in hearing about how your family and you are doing a year after your big lottery win,” Her voice was sickeningly sweet, a tone she adopted in high school and perfected during her run for Homecoming Queen.

There was no response, but Caroline could hear a low breathing. Her stomach twisted. “Hello? Mr. Thompson? Can you hear me?”

A slow deep voice answered, “Yes,”

Caroline recalled how the editor had mentioned that this piece could be one of this issue’s main stories. Adopting a softer voice, “Great. If it’s OK with you and suits your schedule, I would love to do the interview with you this week. In fact, if it’s not too much trouble, I think it would be great for the readers to see how your life has changed and doing the interview at your house would be perfect for that.”

The silence between them was long and uncomfortable, but Caroline could still hear his breathing over the static, “No.”

She could feel the freshly printed column slipping through her fingers, “We don’t have to do it at your house. Maybe we could meet at the Grill, the Quarterly would cover our meal of course. Would your family be able to join us, say this Friday at five?

“No, we’re not doing it an interview.”

Fuck. “Completely understandable. We don’t have to have the interview with your entire family. We can do it just with you. It is really flexible and whatever fits your schedule.”

“No.” A pause. “Leave it alone,”

The call disconnected and Caroline was left with a dial tone and the prospect that she would miss a chance to publish a story that would be within the first pages of the spring issue. The quiet thrum of the office became white noise as she mulled over the options. She could go into her editor’s office and say that the fluff piece was out. Closing her eyes, she could already visualize thediscontented sigh and shrug of the shoulders would follow him saying that this meant she’d have to wait for the next issue and could she pick up another round of lattes for the team. The thought made her balk.

But maybe there was another option, a Hail Mary.

Her foot tapped on the floor in anticipation as she went about her day. As soon as the clock struck five o’clock, she shoved her laptop into her bag and sang a litany of goodbyes until she was out the door. It was rush-hour and the odds of her avoiding it for slim. However, like any small town, Mystic Falls had a series of back roads and shortcuts that any native would know by heart by the age of sixteen. Her blood was pumping quickly as if she were in a marathon. If she showed up in person and Thompson could see that she was friendly and how painless an interview could be, then it would be worth it.

It took 45 minutes despite the shortcuts to make it to the residence. The sun had just set and the sky’s dark maroon was quickly fading into black. The Thompson residence appeared to bejust like the other two-story houses in the neighborhood, but she recalled how it had been big news for the town that the family had moved within a week of winning. Just down the street were the Lockwoods, and further down the block were the local Civil War legacy brothers.

Pulling up as seamlessly as possible, and silently thanking Bonnie for teaching her the tricks of sneaking out and back in the tenth grade, Caroline scanned the building. The lights were turned down low, yellow rays hitting the curtains but revealing nothing. A small part of Caroline began to doubt whether she would come off as persistent or just creepy. She liked to think most people found her passion endearing, but admittedly she heard the words irritating more often than not. As far as she knew, one visitation wouldn’t be enough to warrant a restraining order or really a call to the police. She made a mental note to look into that, for future reference. Slicking back a flyaway, she headed to the house.

The final chirping of the songbirds echoed down the street as Caroline knocked on the door, ready to plaster on a 100-watt smile that said she was warm and approachable. With the knock, the broad white door pressed open softly. Caroline was taken aback, but called lightly into the house as she pushed the door open. 

“Hello, it’s Caroline Forbes. We spoke on the phone earlier today. I wanted to talk to you about the interview, and your door was actually open. Is this a good time?”

Silence. Immediately, she noticed that the house didn’t smack of a lottery winner’s excess. The living room was visible and quite orderly. The long hall was covered in family photos, a gangly red headed girl held tight between a beaming Thompson and his wife.

Nothing rustled, no one screamed at her to get out, but Caroline started to get a gnawing feeling in her stomach. At least one of the family’s cars was parked in the driveway and it was too early for anyone to be reasonably sleeping.

“Hello? Mr. Thompson? Mrs. Thompson?” She walked down the halls, rationalizing thatconcern for someone’s well being could justify trespassing in Virginia. Hopefully.

Her shoes sounded jarring in the silence of the house, each heel clicking against the wooden floors. Family portraits lined the walls. Sunburnt faces in front of La Sagrada Familia, father and daughter laughing with ice cream at Mystic Falls’ park and a young Thompson and wife looking dreamily at each other at their wedding. Perfect photos for the column, but Caroline had a feeling Thompson wouldn’t be offering up the memorabilia for her anytime soon. Finding the first door on the right ajar, Caroline cleared her throat as she peered in.

Laying on the right side of the bed, still wearing a pair of plaid pajamas, was a woman’s body. Practically untouched, the lower body was turned on its side as if still caught in a dream. Stumbling into the doorframe, Caroline couldn’t take her eyes off the empty space where the head should be. Instead, scattered across the pillow and the headboard, were red clumps of skull hair and flesh. Deep red painted light blue covers and it painted the walls like a painter would flick his brush to rid it of excess color.

Caroline felt bile rise into her throat, but it was a secondary observation. Hidden in the mess of the slaughtered woman, a pair of serious brown eyes stared at her. Slamming back into the hallway, she almost passed out then and there. She wanted to leave, she wanted to run out and scream, but her legs barely held her up. Frozen in a nightmare, Caroline realized that the eyes were glassy and the man behind them was dead. A clean gun shot wound through the heart, almost comically clean, and Derrick Thompson looked like a wax figure.

Something that wasn’t quite relief shot through her and Caroline’s mind started to kick it self out of a haze. Police. The police. She needed to call the police, but nothing was working right. Slim fingers that part of her recognized as her own struggled to pull out the pink iPhone. She almost slipped onto the floor, tripping over her own feet and keeping her gaze from the doorway. Finally, clutching the phone close, she waited with ragged breath as it rang.

A calm voice spoke, “911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m Caroline. Forbes. Please send an ambulance and police to 314 Thicket Drive. There’s been a murder. Two murders,” Her voice cracked as if she hadn’t used it in ages and each word felt like swallowing glass.

The faint sound of typing carried through the phone. “Alright, ma’am. A unit is on its way. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I just came for an interview. The door was open and I - I found them.”

“Who is them, ma’am?”

“The Thompsons. Derrick and his wife, I think it’s Cindy”

Unfazed, the voice continued. “Are you safe? Is there anyone else with you?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just me—-“ A cold shot went through her spine. “Jackie.”

She couldn’t hear what the emergency operator said, the phone fell to the ground as she stood up straight. Her heart slammed against her chest as if it would burst out of her rib cage. Sliding to the door on the opposite side, she threw open the door. _Please please please please._ She looked into an empty floral themed bathroom. Turning quickly and slamming the next door open, she felt dizzy as she looked into an untouched simple office space. _Please please please please._ She barely noticed that she was saying everything out loud.

Throwing open the second door on the left, Caroline found a little girl’s room. In a space that could easily hold two young kids, beautiful pastel pink and creamy white decorations lined the wall. A Strawberry Shortcake doll and fluffy stuffed animals lined up eagerly on a fluffy twin bed she vaguely remembered that she had the same canopy set up as a kid. A perfect room until a flash of red caught the side of her left eye.

The closet was wide open, displaying colorful outfits and a large number of shoes. In the midst of all of the accessories, as if she were just part of the spring collection was Jackie Thomsponswinging from a leather belt with a glassy tear stained gaze trailing nothing.

Gravity fell away as Caroline fell over herself on her way to the girl. Grabbing her small body close with one arm and shakily pulling at the belt that suspended her, Caroline heard herself say, “No, no, no,” The belt was stubborn, but it finally released and Jackie fell into the journalist’s arms, taking them both down onto the floor. Pressing the young girl to her chest, she threw off the belt and rubbed at the purple marks around her neck. “Sh, it’s okay, it’s alright, you’re gonna be okay,” Her chest heaved and tears blurred her vision, but she held her so close and couldn’t recognize the terrible dead weight or the terrible look on the child’s face.

The police found them ten minutes later.

***

No one really knew what to do with her afterwards. Bonnie was a quiet comfort, Elena dancing around the topic and plying her with more food than she could eat, even if she had an appetite. Her mom had picked her up from the scene, driving her to the hospital so they could ply the evidence from her. Liz wanted to erase the entire night, to help her daughter heal, but she simply didn’t know how to help. The worst case that she’d seen in Mystic Falls was an animal attack.

She’s given a temporary leave from her job, which is as far as the niceties at the Quarterly went. When she thought of the magazine, it crossed her mind to ask someday what story they went with instead. Spending two weeks at home, all Caroline wanted to do was curl up, and erase the vivid images stuck to her mind like tattoos.

It was the third week, over dinner, that she finally asked her mom bout the case.

“Do they know why he did it?”

Long trained in keeping her composure, Liz Forbes continued slicing her Italian seasoned baked chicken. She waited a beat before answering, “They don’t know. The family’s bank accounts were in tact, no neighbors or friends have reported knowing anything about marital problems and there’s no evidence that he was unhinged,”

Caroline stared past her mother’s shoulder, seeing a flash of red across the lawn. She blinked and the color was gone. Returning her attention to her plate, she retorted, “No evidence except the massacred family,” The words were biting and a part of Caroline instantly regretted it, but her mother had turned her head down

They finished their meal in silence and the next day, after Liz went to work, Caroline began to piece together why Derrick Thompson killed his family and then himself.

The investigation took a month and she slept little during those four weeks. She retraced his steps from before he won the lottery to the final week of his life. Such a concentrated effort was beyond the local police. Not only did they did not have the federal agency resources, there was not even an officer in town that was experienced with murder investigations. Caroline re-interviewed extended family, close friends, and neighbors. She snuck into the unsold house, picking through the remaining family belongings for some sort of insight. It wasn’t until she opened one of the tv guides in the office desk that she reached her breakthrough - one small Post-it note with a time and date.

Six months after coming home from their family cruise, Derrick Thompson had tried to double his profit. He had tried investments, but those came up short. He was thinking about creating a business, but lacked the discipline. Outside of Mystic Falls, he found a bi-monthly poker game with a different crowd. For four games, he skidded by, gaining a little then losing it at the next meet-up. A month before the murder, he had lost not only the family’s winnings, but their life savings. That month, he scrambled to fix the loss and began a frequent at the local pub just outside the town, drinking late on the weeknights. Two nights before, he finally told Cindy and she told him she was leaving with Jackie.

When Caroline returned to work, she walked straight into her editor’s office and slammed a printed copy of the story on his desk. The Quarterly gave it the title, _“_ The Fall’s Family Annilation _”._

The story become a nation-wide sensation, reigniting media interest in the case. She was picked up rather quickly by the Virginia Post, becoming part of their investigative journalism team.

The satisfaction of finally knowing the truth was short lived. That night she turned in the story, Caroline had the first of her night terrors.

Each one started out the same.She was at the park, waiting for her mom to join in her coffee break. Like all of Mystic Falls, the grass was well-manicured and the fountain pristine. The heat of the day was soft against her and she couldn’t help but smile.

A beat would pass and a young girl with crooked teeth walked by, catching Caroline’s eye. The girl grinned, but her eyes were swollen and tears formed streams down dirt-covered cheeks.The face tugged at heart, and Caroline reached a hand out. Her own wrists were raw with rope markers and she suddenly couldn’t breath. Tugging at her neck, she felt a thick rope wrapped around her. As her airways closed and the panic rose, she would gasp awake, red claw marks around her neck.

For a year now, turtlenecks and scarves had become a constant accessory.

**_Three Years Later_ **

By the time she met him, she was much too old to still believe in stories and too knowledgeable to be ignorant of the rumors. There was no reason for her to expect him to be the young investigator that had reached world renown, but those flaming blue eyes had been stuck in her mind since they flashed on the television screen. That made the disappointment taste even more bitter.

It was her second murder case, a C-movie actor slaughtered in a homage to Charles Manson, and she felt like a child struggling to manage a bike with the training wheels still on. The boldness that had helped her trace Thompson’s final steps was too rough around the edges to work outside of Mystic Falls. Watching national reporters swoop in and pry answers out of figureheads and locals dug under her skin. Hating the idea of being disadvantaged, she decided early on that the learning curve would be short.

It was 7 o’clock, thirty minutes before the Californian police department would publicly answer questions from the press. Cops always seemed to think there would be such a thing as too early for journalists. Restless nights made it easy for her to be awake for these early morning press conferences. The crisp November winds whipped her hair into a frenzy right before she entered the retro police station.

Heels digging into the grey carpet, she found her way easily to the waiting room where a small herd of local and regional reporters gathered. The lot of them stifled yawns and sipped on Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Her stomach growled, and she regretted only ordering a burger from room service the night before.

Prepared to subtly elbow her way closer to the conference room door, she caught sight of a head of gold curls. Hardly subtle as she did a double take, Caroline sized up the man. He was sitting away from the rest of the press, head against the wall and eyes closed. Too short to reach his brow, light brown hair curled every which way like a Greek statue. The slight rise and fall of his chest shifted a set of necklaces side to side in the open neck of his grey Henley that peeked out of his worn black jacket. It wasn’t his looks that made her gasp, but their familiarity.

Niklaus Mikaelson was in front of her and suddenly she was eleven again, watching him on that screen all those years ago. Older, but undeniably himself, he was like a mirage she was scared to see dissipate. Caroline redirected to him. A foot away, she swallowed a lump in her throat and parted her lips, still unsure what she would say.

“I’m not signing anything,”

He hadn’t budged, head still pressed against the wall and body lax in the wooden chair. Blinking twice as she realized that it was he who had spoken, Caroline responded slowly, “I don’t want your autograph,”

“Well, that’s refreshing,” His accent rolled over his tongue. She had watched every interview he had given after the story broke and the same brusque tone sounded sharper in person. His eyes stayed closed and he seemed intent on them staying that way, “What do you want then?”

A growing part of her told her not to say anything, to pretend she thought he was someone else or just leave. The young girl in her, still starstruck, wanted to keep talking to him.“I just wanted to say that you inspired me to get into journalism,” She was fumbling over her words and the red turtleneck scratched her skin uncomfortably. “It’s just a honor to meet you,”

“Apparently, some news doesn’t grow old,”he muttered tersely. “Is that it then, love?”

Caroline isn’t sure what reaction she expected, but blatant irritation was hardly on her list. As an investigative journalist, rudeness was a part of the MO. She had grown accustomed to snide comments and had hardened her skin against insensitivity, “I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” It was meant to come out accusatory, but her voice carried too much hurt.

“Frankly, yes. I’m running on 2 hours of sleep and apparently this town offers exclusively the shittiest coffee on Earth,” Rubbing his temple with a hand, he sighed, “I don’t have the physical capacity to even feign flattery,”

A moment of hurt quickly opened the gateway to anger. Setting her jaw and straightening her back, she retorted, “I doubt you get many compliments these days, so I’d savor it.” Flipping her hair over her shoulder and ignoring the lump in her throat, Caroline strutted towards the mob of reporters. “Jackass.”

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all feedback! This will be a long one ;)


End file.
